The Shield of Minerva
by Margit
Summary: Monte Cristo fic. Eugénie Danglars contemplates her two loves on a summer day, implied ff.


Eugénie Danglars let her fingers trail over the piano keys in search of the proper note; she was beginning to suspect that it didn't exist. It was a warm afternoon, the shades in her little parlour drawn against the July heat in Paris. The young woman was trying in vain to compose something, a sweet little nothing for a summer's day, at the suggestion of her beloved governess, Mademoiselle d'Armilly. Darling Louise, who gave so much comfort to her lovely mistress and asked for so little in return.  
  
It was precisely this thought which weighed to heavily on Eugénie's mind, pressing against her damp brow more urgently than the stifling warmth of the room. She adored Louise, was grateful to her, Louise who trained Eugénie's voice and encouraged her with soft caresses and quick kisses. Louise loved her and they both knew it.  
  
The prospect of Eugénie's betrothal had only served to bind the two women closer together, it fueled their fire and promised that all good things must one day come to an end. The Viscount de Morcerf, that insufferable fop who cared more for the gossiping through the opera with his entourage than drinking in the glorious music, was Eugenie's promised husband. If only her father had chosen someone else; anyone else, it seemed, would be an improvement over Albert. But one man was like the other, was he not? They would love Eugenie for her beauty and marry her for her money and her fate would be sealed forevermore. The thought almost made her shudder, but she had long since accustomed herself to the fact that she was a prize to be won. A saddle horse to be wagered at her father's card table.  
  
It was the one joy of Mademoiselle Danglars to sit these long afternoons at the piano side by side with Louise, each woman with one hand on the keys and the other resting on the respective thigh of the other. Delicate and ethereal Louise, so like an otherworldly creature out of a florid and trite poem by a swooning poet with lace cuffs. Though for all of her beauty, Louise was common. Condemned to serve as a governess, she would never be forced into a marriage of politics or be forced to bear the children of a man whom she despised. Such was the privilege reserved for daughters of the upper class.  
  
The key that Eugénie was searching for proved to be elusive. She abandoned her exertions and rose from the piano bench, perching in one of the brocaded armchairs that flanked the cloaked window, slivers of light slicing through the gaps where the heavy drapes kissed languidly. Her thoughts strayed to the summer ball which the Madame de Morcerf had hosted no more than a week ago, the crowded heat of the ballroom and the feeling of suffocating under the weight of jewels and the wagging plumes of ostrich fans fluttering against the wrinkled décolletage of Paris's elite. And then there had been sweet Valentine de Villefort, clinging to Eugénie with one small white hand and swinging a nosegay of myosotis to mirror the small bouquet of camellias, which hung suspended from a ribbon on Eugénie's other wrist. Like a pair of nymphs straight out of Homer, they had traversed the ballroom and gardens hand in hand, both in garbed in virginal white.  
  
Eugénie had not expected to find a friend in Valentine, a quiet and pious girl who was as displeased with her prospective matrimony as Eugénie was of hers. But under the surface of Valentine's character, she had discovered a kindred spirit. She could still perfectly recall the look on Mademoiselle de Villefort's lovely face when Eugénie had kissed her in a moment of abandon, rosy lips parted in a surprised "O" and blue eyes looking as though she had just awakened from a slumber. Valentine had chastely returned the affection with a shy kiss and laid her chestnut curls on Eugénie's shoulder for a moment, whispering in her ear, "You are such a very dear friend to me, 'Génie."  
  
That had been all. Of course Valentine wouldn't have thought it anything more than a gesture of girlish devotion, a token between two friends who found themselves both in unhappy situations. Eugénie chided herself for having given in to such weakness at all, but the Villefort girl was so devastating that she hadn't been able to withhold her affections. Perhaps, she fancied, something in Valentine might have stirred, perhaps there was the slightest chance after all.  
  
No, no use torturing herself with such thoughts. Eugénie shook her head fiercely and stood, pacing across the room to reclaim the piano bench and veritably attacking the ivory with a mad cantata. The noise brought an angelic face to the doorframe, golden hair cascading down from its knot, "Mademoiselle? Are you alright?"  
  
Eugénie composed herself, straightening her shoulders her shawl slipping off in the process, "Of course, Louise," She said with a smile as she patted the piano cushioned bench beside her, "Won't you join me?" 


End file.
